


...and Wild Is The Wind

by CaptainSlow



Series: Winter Phapsody in five parts [6]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: I had to hurt them sometime, M/M, am I evil? yes I am, but shhh it's gonna be alright anyway, lovers' tiff XD, yes physically too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-06 17:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSlow/pseuds/CaptainSlow
Summary: Lovers' tiff. 'nuff said.





	1. Chapter 1

_Love me, love me, love me, love me_   
_Say you do_   
_Let me fly away_   
_With you_   
_For my love is like_   
_The wind.*©_

***

"Ben?" Joe's voice coming from the speaker of his mobile phone sounds so agitated as if he were on the verge of some kind of breakdown.

Ben's first thought is that something must have happened back home, too, and the bitter irony of the most awful timing does not escape him – when shit happens, it apparently tends to do so all over the place and all at once.  

"Yeah?" he answers tiredly and can't hold back a wince – his ribs hurt like a motherfucker every time he is absent-minded enough to pull in a proper inhale, and speaking doesn't seem to be working out quite well either. "What's up?"

" _What's up_?" Joe sounds simultaneously incredulous and close to panic. "Are you all right? What's happened out there?"

"What…" Ben trails off, taken aback. "How do you know--"

"How do  _I_  know? It's all over the goddamn internet! Photos of you being taken inside an ambulance, for fuck's sake! I've been calling you for the past hour, nearly gone out of my mind, couldn't fucking get through to anyone."

Joe's voice does sound shaken and only now does Ben finally realise the reason and the full extent of his panic. They were filming outside when he took his very stupid and decidedly ungraceful tumble down the stairs while doing one of the stunts, so there must have been some eye-witnesses not from the film crew to snap a few pics and thus immortalise his sorry arse being taken to hospital.  

"Ben?" Joe repeats when there's no answer from him for apparently way too long. He could possibly be excused for it in the state he's in – everything bloody hurts and coherent thinking seems to require a physical effort. "What happened? Are you still in hospital? Are you okay? Should I come--"

"Joe, Joe, hold your horses," Ben sighs and winces again. "I'm fine."

" _Fine_?" Joe echoes. "Seems to me people who're fine aren't as a rule taken to hospital by an ambulance. Where are you?"

"'m not at hospital anymore," Ben replies doing his best to do it in a way which doesn't involve more breathing than strictly necessary. "Took a tumble down the stairs while filming, busted some ribs, got a few bruises, was discharged half an hour ago, didn't have my phone on me. Didn't know you called, didn't know somebody managed to snap any pictures of that let alone post them." Ben drags in an inhale, immediately cursing under his breath. "I'd have called you earlier, but I've just got my hands on my phone."

"Oh my god, you fucking idiot." Somehow, on the other end of the line, Joe manages to sound both relieved and exasperated. "How bad is it?"

"Hurts like a bitch," Ben smirks softly, absurdly delighted to hear Joe being this worried. "Otherwise, I am okay. Is it really all over the internet?"

"Well, not all  _over_  it, precisely, but you know how Instagram is…" he huffs, unamused. "How the hell did you manage to do that, huh?"

"Long story." Ben rolls his eyes even though Joe cannot see him. "More stupid than interesting."

"I bet, you clumsy dumbass," Joe clicks his tongue. "Want me to come? I think I could go find some last-minute flights."

"Nah, I think I'm coming back to New York for a week or so. Was told to give it a rest, so I'm unlikely to be of much use here anyway. See no point in staying in the bloody hotel for a week doing nothing," Ben shrugs and hisses softly, already hating this condition with all his heart and cursing himself for not being careful enough. He's also been forbidden from smoking, and it's already having its effect on him – his fingers are literally itching for a cigarette.

"Do you have the doc's permission to fly anywhere at all?" Joe asks.

His question provokes two very controversial reactions in Ben – on the one hand, being tired and frustrated and in quite a lot of pain, he just wants to tell Joe to fuck off and stop fussing over him like mother hen; on the other, however, the rational part of his mind understands – or at least tries to do so – what it must have felt like for Joe to be left ignorant knowing something had happened, and that his question is caused by his genuine concern, and that, of all things, is the only good thing about this entire mindfuck of a day – it's nice to have someone to worry about you, after all.

"Yes, " he replies. "Probably gonna be a bit of a hassle, but I'll travel light so I guess I'll manage."

"Shit, I'd come to pick you up if I were in New York myself--"

"Aw, fuck, I've totally forgotten you're in LA," Ben sighs and bites his lip to prevent another hiss of pain.

The fact that Joe's been occupied in one of his own projects on the west coast for the past week or so has somehow totally eluded him, what with his workload here. This only adds insult to injury – his only consolation in this situation was that he'd at least have a chance to see Joe and spend an unplanned week or so with him, but now it turns out he'd most certainly be licking his wounds in New York on his own. Shit does indeed seem to like to happen all at once.

"Ben, I can ask for a few days off, at least to get you from the airport and see you settled and make sure you're all right," Joe offers and Ben knows he means every word of it.

"Look, I'll be fine," he assures him all the same, not wanting to create any trouble. "That'll probably be way too much fuss all for nothing."

Still, the prospect of just hanging around New York all alone and not being able to do virtually anything isn't particularly delightful. At the same time, he realises just how acutely he's missing Joe, and that he's already managed to set his hopes high for them to be dashed just like this. The disappointment seems to intensify the constant dull ache in his side.

"It's not for nothing, Ben," Joe replies, not sounding convinced. "I miss you, wouldn't mind seeing you for the first time in three damn weeks."

"Miss you too, buddy," Ben says softly, compulsively wishing to have Joe right here, chattering his way through the evening; to finally feel his arms around himself, in that possessive manner of his. That might actually work as a better medicine than all those fancy painkillers he has been prescribed. "Timing sucks, as per usual."

On the other end of the line, Joe huffs humourlessly. "Tell me about it. Look, I'll see what I can do here. You're sure you'll be okay commuting on your own?"

"Yeah," Ben says, wondering if he will, after all. Not like he's got much choice, though. "I'll be fine."

"I'll try to cajole me some days off to come to see you," Joe promises, and Ben dearly hopes he will manage to.

With both of them being involved in cinematography, even moving in together doesn't seem to be working quite well in terms of allowing them to spend as much time as they want to in each other's company, the situation being aggravated by the fact that neither still feels particularly enthusiastic about the idea of making their relationship public knowledge. With Joe out of New York, the idea of going there doesn't seem all that fascinating anymore, but it's too late to change his mind now – Ben's already told his agent to look for a flight. He reconciles himself with the hope that Joe will really manage to get himself a few days off. He doesn't really need him to come and get him from the airport – it doesn't really matter, he'll take a taxi, it’s still a car ride and it's gonna be uncomfortable whoever picks him up – but he's been missing Joe really badly and a week with him away from the shoot would be a sweet thing to have.

"All right," Ben answers quietly, suddenly feeling even more upset than he already was.

"Ben?" Joe asks, apparently not fooled by his words.

"I'll be fine," Ben repeats, this time making himself sound more earnest. "I'm just tired I guess."

"Go have a rest then, we can talk tomorrow," Joe's voice sounds so impossibly gentle, and the desire to have him here and hear it for real is so strong that it seems to intensify that blasted ache in Ben's ribs. "Love you."

"Love you too," Ben murmurs but he has to bite his lower lip again, hard, to smother the bitter disappointment.

He's not sure where it's coming from, this weird feeling of some sort of deep dissatisfaction. It shouldn't really be like that because Joe and him have absolutely nothing to complain about. They are together, they live together – well, as much as their professions would allow them anyway – their relationship hasn't grown dull or routine, nothing like that, the maddening desire which was there in the beginning seems to have only transformed into something more profound and intense, he knows he loves Joe, he knows Joe loves him back, so there's virtually nothing he could single out as a reason to be anxious, and yet he is. There are of course little hurdles and complications here and there, but who doesn't have them? They shouldn't define happiness.

Having ended the call, Ben remains where he is, on the bed resting against a pile of pillows which keep him in a half-sitting position. He squeezes the phone in his hand and brings it to his face, unaware he's doing it, to his genuine horror realising that he doesn't want to go back to New York at all. He wants to go to Joe, and if Joe were back home, Ben would be happy enough to return. As it is, though, with Joe currently being approximately three thousand miles away from it, the prospects of being all on his own aren't particularly cheerful. Ben wonders how on earth he could have neglected the fact that Joe's in LA and decides it must have been the stress of the workload. He doesn't like the way he's suddenly feeling but he blames it mainly on tiredness and the injury, telling himself it'll all get better once he's on the familiar territory and Joe comes to spend a while with him. If Joe comes, but Ben doesn't dare venture into the land of absolutely useless hypothesising. And for the time being, he's got a more urgent case on his hands – to survive the night. He's already dreading it – the painkillers are doing their job, so when he's at rest, the ribs don't bother him much, but every accidental, too deep, breath or a cough or a movement resonate with a flare of pain in his ribcage. Sleeping in a half-sitting position doesn't seem to be all that exciting either, and the smoking ban is the worst of it all.

 

Later, as it turns out, it doesn't become any better, neither in terms of his bruised ribs nor of being in New York on his own. Ben convinces Joe he will be just dandy, at the same time trying to convince himself of the same thing, even though his current sole desire is for Joe to come back and give him some company in this suddenly and unexpectedly very much alien city. That said, he's never been one to give in that easily, and since the rational part of his mind tells him that, taking into consideration the fact that Joe and him are in a relationship and that they have come to the mutual agreement to live in New York, he's got a moral obligation to start liking the place. The funny thing is, he'd never found anything wrong with it before he had to start considering it as his permanent place of residence; quite the opposite, it seemed exciting to give living there a try. Problems began once he'd moved there for good.

That is ridiculous, though, since he has virtually no clue as to what sort of problems it creates. On the surface, there are no problems at all, just the feeling of not belonging no matter how much Ben tries to like New York. Which is weird – it's America, after all, everyone should belong there. It doesn't seem that bad as long as Joe and him are together, but there's that scary, nagging thought that it can't last forever just like this, that this intense infatuation they feel to each other will have to lessen, sooner or later anyway, and while at the moment he can perhaps turn a blind eye to his growing aversion to the city, focusing instead on actually enjoying being in a proper relationship with someone he loves, he dreads that in the future that won't be enough anymore and he will be forced to acknowledge the bloody elephant in the room.

Ben's journey back to New York turns out to be less troublesome than he expected it to, but still hardly pleasant. His side aches all the time, making him weary and irritable, his temporary abstinence from smokes drives him up the wall, and the blasted turbulence doesn't help his condition in the slightest. On the way from the airport Ben has a chance to find out just how fucking bumpy the road to New York actually is, and when he's finally back and wishing for nothing else but to finally lie down, he understands the mattress turns out to be way too soft which forces him to relocate to the sofa in the living room instead. The weather in New York leaves much to be desired, too – it's cold and drizzly, grey clouds smeared in torn patches over the way too low sky. Some would say it should look pretty much like London to him, what with the nasty weather conditions, but it doesn't, which somehow ends up leaving Ben, of all things, homesick.

 _This is my home now_ , he tells himself stubbornly.  _My and Joe's_.

Ben spends the next few days dealing with homesickness in his own way – forbidden by doctors from doing anything which could either cheer him up or at least distract him from his suddenly oppressive thoughts, he engages in more walking around New York than he's ever done before. It's hardly nice given the dreadful weather, it doesn't quite manage to make New York appeal to him, quite the opposite, in fact, and it seems to leave him sorer instead of rested, but he keeps doing it all the same – if anything, it's some kind of physical activity, and it's never failed to serve as the best medicine for melancholy. He'd gladly hit the gym and work his problems out with sweat, but that's unfortunately out of question.

His mood does lighten up considerably when Joe manages to sneak himself a few of days off and finally come to visit. When Ben hears the sound of tires on the gravel driveway outside, he shuffles down to the front door to meet him. He cannot walk fast enough – moving around still hurts, and what he'd really love at this point is to bloody teleport and materialise right next to Joe. It's been tough enough just being away from him for these past three weeks, and these last few days spent in New York all on his own have been purely devastating.

He reaches the door almost at the same time Joe opens it and Ben's first impulse is to run and grab his man into his arms. He's way past any running these days, though, so what he does is sort of limp towards him with an embarrassed smirk plastered to his lips.

"Ben…" Joe says softly and carelessly drops his bag next to the wall.

His hands come to rest on Ben's cheeks first, cool but impossibly tender, sliding down along his neck to his shoulders and then to his back and then Ben's finally enclosed into a very careful, so desperately needed, hug, Joe being mindful not to squeeze him too much for which Ben is extremely grateful.

"Goddamn you…" he murmurs low, muffling the words against Ben's cheek while all Ben can do is tiredly push his forehead against Joe's shoulder and just let him hold him. His perfume tickles Ben's nose in that familiar, almost unbearable, way which signifies yet another long separation coming to an end at last.

"Finally," he mutters into Joe's jacket, crumpling the material in his fists and cautiously pulling Joe closer.

"That bad, huh?" Joe asks quietly, gently rocking them both on their feet.

Ben feels Joe's cool hands slip down along his spine, just as gingerly, and then sneak their way under the hem of his t-shirt. Ben shivers at the contrast between his apparently slightly feverish skin and Joe's cool touch, but it still feels nothing short of blissful so he carefully presses himself even further into Joe's embrace.

"Not the ribs," he says, shaking his head. "Just been wanting to see you too badly."

"Uh-huh, I see," Joe chuckles softly. "So much so that you apparently decided that busting some body parts would be as good an excuse to meet as any."

By now, Ben has had a chance to learn that laughing in the state he's in is not the wisest idea, but he can't help it – he lets out a huff, which is immediately followed by a pained hiss.

"Fuck," he curses, muffling it into Joe's shoulder, exasperated.

Joe's hand relocates from the small of Ben's back to the front of his chest, pressing delicately as he moves back. He looks at Ben searchingly, eyes running over his face half-scared, half-worried.

"Even laughing hurts, huh?" he asks, taken aback.

"That hurts like one hell of a motherfucker, worst thing to try." Ben rolls his eyes but can't help a smile when Joe's hand comes up to cup his cheek.

"How're you, really?"

He sighs and returns his head onto Joe's shoulder, pulling him back into his arms. "Like shit. It's more annoying than painful, and I just hate being here on my own not being able to do anything at all, and the weather sucks, and it feels like if I spend a couple more hours without a cigarette, I'll either quit or start climbing up the fucking wall," he blurts it all in one breath, dragging in a laborious inhale afterwards. "And I want you," he breathes out, pressing himself to Joe's in a rather unambiguous manner simultaneously slipping his hands to Joe's arse and pushing him closer. He thinks he feels the reaction of Joe's body to his closeness almost instantaneously, that little twitch of his hips and a hitch of breath. "But I doubt I'd be of any use in this state at all."

"Oh let  _me_  take care of it," Joe whispers against Ben's ear, and he sounds so wonderfully lewd Ben once again mentally curses his damn injury – all those things they could do if he were healthy enough. On the other hand, weren't it for his damn injury, they wouldn't be due to meet for another couple of weeks or so, so there's probably at least one good thing about it all.

They spend a while like this, standing in the hall wrapped into each other's arms, so close Ben thinks he can actually feel the steady rhythm of Joe's heart against his own chest, and it's such a pleasure to finally be able to do it.

"You scared the shit out of me, mate," Joe murmurs after a period of comfortable silence and shakes his head minutely. "Wouldn't want to feel anything like that ever again."

Simultaneously, he tightens the hold of his arms around Ben, but ever so carefully so it doesn't cause him any discomfort.

"Didn't know someone leaked those stupid photos," Ben sighs a little defensively and shrugs. "Didn't even have my phone on me to know you'd been calling all the while."

"I know, Ben," Joe murmurs, "I'm not blaming you, just stating the obvious. Let's go inside at last."

Having Joe back dissipates Ben's forlornness, at least temporarily, and the only thing still aggravating his mood is that they're due to part in just a few days again, but Ben prefers to ignore this fact at least for this short stretch of time they are allowed to have. If Ben were fit for it, they'd already be in bed going at it like there's no tomorrow – three weeks apart tend to do that to a man. Taking into account his busted ribs and as a consequence his sorry physical condition, however, they opt for a quiet dinner out first, taking the chance to share latest news and gossips, Ben doing his best not to think about a cigarette he's been craving like a proper junkie for the past several days and trying not to laugh at Joe's jokes too much because that's physically painful. As they chat, he can't take his eyes off that grin of his, perfect and beautiful, which, along with the fact that Joe's clean shaven for once, makes him look way younger, more like a guy who came of age not so long ago and not like a man in his mid-thirties. The way Joe smiles, especially when it is reserved strictly for Ben and no one else, makes the latter turn all soft on the inside, so soft he's surprised time and time again that he doesn't thaw into a happy puddle at his friend's feet. He adores this smile, has been smitten with it ever since the moment he had the pleasure to behold it for the very first time. And he remembers that moment too, distinctly enough, the first time that flawless billion bucks grin was directed at him, back when they were at the Abby Road studios. In retrospect, it's not at all surprising that back then he simply couldn't help staring, couldn't take his eyes off the sly crinkles around Joe's eyes and the soft dimples in his cheeks, thinking to himself that this was one of the most brilliant grins he'd seen in his life, not even aware of the quickening desire to make Joe laugh again just so that he could have that smile once more, all for himself. That was just it, some people merely smiled, and they were okay, and some shone and seemed to illuminate the entire space around them with it, or maybe it seemed that way simply because he was already a turning into a lovestruck fool. Seeing this smile now doesn't exactly make this nagging upsetting feeling of not belonging go away completely, but it is enough to distract him from it at least for a while.

They go to bed early enough, pretending to watch a film but, in reality, preferring to enjoy the feeling of shared intimacy rather than following the storyline. Not wanting to part with each other and with Ben not being able to do pretty much anything but stay in this already loathsome half-sitting position, they end up with Ben propped against Joe's chest instead of a pile of pillows, the back of his head resting on the other man's shoulder and with Joe's arms wrapped around his midsection, way below his ribcage. Joe's legs are bent in his knees, and Ben lets his fingers trace featherlight patterns on the bare skin of his thighs. Funnily enough, being in this position feels so much better than resting against pillows, as if Joe's mere presence manages to work as some sort of a painkiller. That said, perhaps it's exactly the way it is – the level of all those fancy chemicals in his bloodstream still goes all haywire every time they they're physically close, even after all the time they've been together. Or maybe it's just that they haven't been together enough yet for it to stop working that way.

When one of Joe's hands relocates up to his neck, fingertips fluttering over his skin, drawing gentle slightly ticklish lines over his throat and collarbones and shoulders and chest, Ben feels that familiar tingling warmth starting to kindle in the pit of his stomach. Joe's other hand slides all the way down to Ben's crotch, teasing him through the layers of his underwear and sweatpants. Smiling, Ben closes his eyes, tilts his head when it's Joe's lips instead of his hand on the side of his neck, pressing to his skin in a touch which is light and moist, and spreads his legs a little wider to give Joe more freedom of movement down below his waist. His hips gently thrust into Joe's hand when it half-grips the outline of his growing hard-on, and Ben lets out a hiss when his ribcage responds to his careless movement with a warning sting of pain.

"Shhh, easy there," Joe whispers against his ear, all wet lips and tongue, and then nibbles gently at the earlobe. "Don't move."

Ben's breath hitches and he exhales slowly trying not to bother his ribs too much. "Easier said than done," he huffs a little breathlessly. "You're way too good with those hands of yours."

"Huh, should I perhaps leave you alone to avoid giving your ribs too much strain?" Joe teases, playfully taking his hand off the now very prominent bulge inside Ben's pants.

"Shut up," Ben smiles, grabs the said hand and returns it to where it belongs, literally wrapping Joe's fingers around himself. Thankfully, the latter doesn't seem to be in a particularly teasing mood and doesn't resist, obediently taking a handful of him. "Three weeks is way too long, you've no idea just how badly I want you to do me but this fucking injury barely allows me to breathe let alone do something else."

"You won't need to do anything," Joe promises him, hot breath on his skin and just a hint of teeth dragging along Ben's jaw. "Just relax, baby."

When he's turned on, Joe's voice normally gets deeper, acquiring that maddening purring quality, and Ben can honestly say that mere listening to him speak such nonsense into his ear gets him hard, Joe doesn't even need to touch him anywhere to achieve it. Now, though, there're his lips and tongue lavishing his cheek, neck and shoulder with slow, wet, lingering kisses; there are Joe's clever hands, one pushing the waistbands of both his trousers and underwear down his hips low enough to let Ben's cock spring out, the other taking hold of him, knowingly, with just the right amount of pressure; there's the feeling of Joe's own erection pressed against the small of Ben's back; and all of this is bringing Ben close to the state of delirium. He wants to move, he wants to turn in Joe's arms to face him, to press the front of his body flush against Joe's, and then just writhe against him, rubbing himself against Joe's cock until he cannot breathe, and then let Joe flip him over and do the rest, fuck him hard and deep and proper until he screams, but all he can do in his sorry state is try not to fidget way too much in Joe's arms under his knowing skilful hands in order not to spoil the pleasure of the so much needed and awaited intimacy with yet another blare of pain from his ribs.

"Shhh, it's all right," Joe whispers into Ben's ear when the latter frantically squeezes his hands on Joe's thighs, fingers digging into his muscles. "'tis all right, we'll do it slow."

Ben wants to say that _slow_ is simply killing him but he cannot, not having enough wind to articulate anything. It's also way too good to interrupt and it's nice for a change to drag the pleasure, let it last for longer even if at the same time making it too excruciating. What Joe's doing to him, all that loving stroking and fondling, is so unhurried, in fact, that Ben completely loses himself in time and in the sensation. What substitutes the familiar dimensions of space and time is Joe's hands on him, Joe's lips on his neck, Joe's voice whispering silly little endearments into his ear and Joe's cock against his back, Joe thrusting against him, cautiously and just as slowly.

It's hard to say how long it lasts, they're indeed doing it so languidly that, as the pleasure builds up, it doesn't explode in a brilliant orgasmic flash, it just keeps on growing, swelling, enveloping Ben from head to toe until he forgets himself, forgets how to speak, forgets where he is, the only thing which exists in his universe right now is this almost painfully deliberate slow motion of Joe's hand on his cock while the other one is playing with his balls, just the way Ben loves it most. With a breathy sigh, Ben throws his head back against Joe's shoulder, allowing himself to be held, squeezed, touched, caressed, kissed, but, most importantly, loved, allowing this affectionate kind of lovemaking ward his worries and concerns away.

Ben's arms go up and wrap around Joe's neck, hands coming to rest on its nape, pulling him down. Simultaneously, he lifts his head and turns it a little so that when Joe leans closer to him, his lips end up smack on Ben's. It gets even better with a kiss, intensifying the sensuality of what they're doing, and Ben can't hold back a soft moan. It gets muffled against Joe's mouth, mingling with his breath.

"Need you," Ben murmurs, almost desperately.

It comes out so quiet that their respective breathing and the soft sounds their lips are making as they kiss nearly drown it completely, but he knows he doesn't even really have to say it out loud to let Joe know because Joe's lips flutter all over his face for a brief while instead by way of a reply, pressing to the tip of his nose and his cheek and his chin and then finally return to his mouth to resume and deepen the kiss.

When Ben comes at last, after what seems like hours of this blissful unbearable torment with tenderness, he barely produces a sound, completely winded as he rides it through, lips not on Joe's anymore because he gasps for breath, and even the little pangs of pain in his ribcage cannot spoil the pleasure his body's overflowing with. He feels the wetness of Joe's semen smeared all over his lower back and ass, and just like on many occasions before he can't help being astounded by the fact of just how much he loves the sensation, loves knowing that it's the physical evidence of Joe's most primordial desire and the proof of Ben's ability to satisfy him in the most primordial way. He's grateful to be enclosed in Joe's embrace while he's doing his best to ride through those sweet orgasmic moments as smoothly as possible; he's delighted to have one of Joe's hands still squeezing him firmly, coaxing it all out of him to the very last drop. When the said hand relocates up to his lips, he opens his mouth obediently and willingly, swirling his tongue around Joe's slick fingertips and letting him push them further in, licking his own seed off until Joe's fingers are clean. He's still surprised he's not revolted by it, but no matter how much he searches himself for the signs of disgust, there are none, and he knows he'd do this and more if it makes Joe happy.

Afterwards, they remain motionless for a very long while until Ben starts dozing off. He then makes a rather half-arsed effort to move off Joe, but the latter holds him firmly in place.

"You can sleep like this if you're comfortable enough," he offers, nuzzling his temple.

"I am but then you won't be able to get much sleep," Ben replies drowsily.

"I'll be fine," Joe assures him. "I just hate having to let you go. It's like long-distance all over again."

Ben huffs, wishing he wasn't reminded about that. "You'll still need to sleep, you said you need to be up early tomorrow morning…"

"I'll be okay, Ben," Joe repeats, planting a proper kiss onto his temple. "I'm not letting you go tonight, and I think this is probably the only way I can hold you so that you don't hiss at me like some angry serpent all the time."

Ben smirks. "I missed you and your horrible sense of humour," he murmurs incoherently and squeezes Joe's hand. "It's been too lonely without you here."

"I only wish both of us didn't have to leave again that soon," Joe sighs.

"So do I," Ben mutters, already half-asleep, and interlaces his and Joe's fingers together.

 

Just like most quarrels, this one starts practically out of nothing, triggered by some superficial thing which shouldn't even be paid attention to but on the contrary is given way too much of it. Or so it seems to Ben, anyway, at least at this particular moment. Later, alone in bed, he'll wonder whether, after all, it's been coming to it for quite a while, during all those days and nights they spent together without as much as a little argument let alone a real quarrel, perhaps with some important words being left unsaid, which has brought about dissatisfaction of such proportions. And it turns out he's not the only one who's dissatisfied.

It begins with a question which has virtually nothing provocative about it at all, but somehow it turns out to be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel's back.

They're on their way back from a late dinner in a restaurant nearby in the neighbourhood, one which is supposed to be their last dinner together in the forthcoming two weeks at least, and instead of driving they opted for a little stroll. The New York spring still leaves much to be desired – it's foggy and humid and, even despite the rather mild temperatures, it feels wretchedly cold. It's been pretty much the same ever since Ben returned and he can honestly say he's getting sick and tired of it not to mention the fact that it makes his ribcage ache almost constantly and even the painkillers he's on aren't quite able to relieve the discomfort. This is another reason why this by no means long or particularly strenuous walk is a mistake – even though he's done plenty of wandering around over the past week, bored out of his mind while waiting for Joe to come back, tonight it seems nothing short of a sheer torment.

Ben's less than perfect condition, combined with the tone of voice in which Joe actually utters his question, is perhaps the main reason why he reacts the way he does.

"What's wrong?" Joe asks once the front door closes behind them, right out of the blue – or it seems to Ben, at least.

He doesn't sound particularly annoyed but by now Ben has learnt to decipher Joe's various intonations well enough, and this knowledge tells him he's certainly on his way to becoming so, for whatever reason.

"With what?" he asks a question of his own, toeing off his sneakers. Fuck, even speaking seems to hurt in this stupid weather and with all the stupid walking around.

"With you," Joe sighs, flinging his arms and simultaneously trying to shrug. And now he does finally sound exasperated.

"What makes you think that something's wrong?"

Ben turns around to face him, sticking his hands into his jeans' pockets. He does so unconsciously, a gesture signalling his desire to hide from what's obviously coming his way because, perhaps, deep inside he knows what exactly is wrong and he's got no idea as to how to discuss it with Joe.

"Well, maybe the fact that ever since you came back here you've been… oh goddammit, I don't know. Acting strange. Walking around restlessly even though you were told to abstain from any physical activity for the time being, started smoking again even though you were told by the docs not to. Something must be wrong, huh?"

"Well, my bloody ribs are wrong. Hurt like a bitch all the fucking time so much so I can hardly breathe normally. Is that enough for a wrong to you?" he retorts, somewhat stung by the blaming notes present in Joe's intonation.

"Is it what leaves you sulking? Your ribs? I thought you were on painkillers anyway."

" _Sulking_?" Ben echoes, astounded beyond any other possible reaction.

"Well, aren't you?" Joe shrugs. "That's why I'm actually asking. I don't know what the hell is going on with you, your ribs or your mood or whatnot, the only thing I know is that over the past few days we've been together, I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times you've actually smiled. So what the hell is wrong?"

Ben pulls in an exasperated inhale even though it hurts, in an attempt to prevent himself from losing his temper, and god knows, suddenly, he very much wants to just that.

"Well, how else should I be feeling? I come back here, you're away, I have absolutely bloody nothing to do--"

"Jesus, Ben, I asked you like fifty times if you wanted me to come straight away," Joe interrupts him, which only pisses Ben off even more. Because indeed he did.

"Oh for fuck's sake, don't blame it on me! All I'm saying is that it's been unbearable; I've got nothing to do, walking hurts, talking hurts, bloody breathing hurts, too, smoking is not allowed, I barely know anybody here but your family, Joe, I've just feeling lonely here all on my one."

"Why didn't you go to London instead? You'd have been more entertained over there, what with all those friends of yours," Joe counters, and there's something in his voice which Ben can't quite put his finger on and he's not sure he really wants to, but understand it or not, it manages to get right under his skin. And oh, it hurts, hurts more than his bruised ribs. 

"Joe?" he asks, suddenly perplexed. "Are you  _angry_  with me?"

"Oh goddamn it, I don't know if I'm angry with you or with myself!" Joe snaps. "All I want is for you to be happy here and you obviously aren't! Haven't been almost ever since you actually moved in with me, and back then you didn't have some broken ribs to blame for it." 

"Have _you_ ever asked me if everything was all right, ever since I moved in with you, huh?"

Even while he's still in the middle of saying it, Ben understands that he's being an idiot, that Joe's being an idiot, too, but he can't help it all the same so he just goes on, spitting out words he knows aren't precisely true, allowing himself to turn the tables and take malicious joy in blaming it all on him.

"Well, I have just done that, haven't I?" Joe retorts, arms akimbo.

"You've just asked me what the hell was wrong as if it's my fault that I simply cannot get used to living here!" 

Belatedly, Ben realises he's just voiced something he didn't dare to as much as formulate inside his head, let alone tell Joe about it. And, well, now that he has, Joe looks truly scandalised.

"Huh, I didn't  _force_  you to come here, did I? I thought we mutually agreed on it. Should've told me you had objections right from the start, no?"

"I didn't fucking know I had objections! You want to know what's wrong? _I_ don't know what's wrong! This bloody place is wrong, or this bloody city is wrong, it's not fucking working out, that's what's wrong!" Ben doesn't quite yell this last sentence, but he's really on the verge of it. 

Joe stops suddenly, and gives Ben a look as if he's just been slapped. His eyes grow wider as he stares at Ben, silently, all his fight seemingly shocked out of him. Ben looks back, holding his gaze, and the hurt expression in Joe's eyes sobers him up, too. 

"Tell me you didn't mean that?" Joe asks quietly, and it's such a stark contrast to all the previous heated exchange. 

"I didn't mean  _what_?" Ben retorts, still angry but now also realising what exactly he's just said.   
  
He doesn't like the way it sounded. He bets Joe doesn't like it too, judging by his face. 

Joe swallows. "That it's not working? That you were talking about  _us_."   
  
Ben keeps glaring back at him for a while without saying anything, the angry part of him wanting to hurt Joe, urging him to say that  _they_  are not working, wanting to see just what extent of despair it may cause. The part of him that loves Joe, however, is utterly terrified by what has just left his mouth. He didn't intend to say anything like that but it came out all the same, and now it makes him wonder what if it really is so, after all, what if his discontentedness, which started almost at the same time he moved to New York and has been exacerbated over this past week of having to dwell here on his own and by his ridiculous and annoying injury, is really caused by some serious problem in their seemingly smooth relationship. The extent of how ashamed he's already feeling and just how he doesn't like the quickening panic in Joe's eyes, the disbelief and the hurt and the confusion, testify that he's simply a pissed off bastard who doesn't know how to choose words he spits out properly.

Ben sighs, meaning to be exasperated but ending up just weary. Then he shakes his head and gives his feet an embarrassed glance. 

"I didn't mean us, Joe." He looks back at him, but Joe's face still expresses only distrust mixed with fear. "I meant  _this_ ," he raises his arms and then lets them drop back to his sides. "I meant New York. That's what's not working out. For me, anyway."

"Why did you agree to move here at all, then?" Joe asks, but just like Ben, he doesn't seem to be particularly worked up anymore, sounding upset and more tired rather than angry.

"Well, we decided to give it a try here, right?" Ben sighs. "Doesn't seem to be a particularly successful attempt."

"Well, I thought it was…" Joe huffs bitterly and shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe there's much more I don't know, huh?"

"Joe--"

"Why didn't you tell me anything?"

"Because there was nothing to tell, okay? It did seem all right at first, but… I don't know what's wrong, Joe, I came here from the shoot, everything fucking hurt, the weather sucked, you were away and I still hardly know anyone here at all, and I just couldn't stand it. It's all right when you're here but…" he trails off, raking his fingers through his hair and then rubbing his jaw. "Maybe I really should've gone to London instead, considering you were away, but came back here because this is home, right? I thought it'd be logical to come home. As to you, I didn't mean that you had to come back here to babysit me. It'd have made things better but it wouldn't have changed the fact that…"

He falls silent, not quite knowing how to put it. He doesn't want to say that it's not working out, because it's not strictly true. The two of them are okay – at least he dearly hopes so – but New York has started to feel like a prison, and Ben has no understanding why it has to be this way. He never had anything against it before, but he supposes there's a world of difference between visiting a place and living there, and as it turns out even love for someone can't quite change that. Or maybe he's just being a selfish asshole, he doesn't really know anymore.

When Joe doesn't say anything in response, Ben just sighs, resigned and feeling guilty, despondent and even more mixed up.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just tired, and all this is perhaps because of this goddamn injury and wrong timing. Don't wanna talk about it now that both you and I are worked up about it, and the ribs are bitching again, so I guess I'll just go have an early night."

"You're leaving tomorrow evening, Ben," Joe says quietly. " _When_  are we gonna talk about it?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, swallows hard and heads straight for the bedroom without sparing Joe a single glance.

Joe remains silent, and it's that kind of silence which is more stunned than anything else, and it makes Ben ashamed of himself even more than he already is. It makes him blame himself for what's not working out. It makes him scared that it might not be working out for real, so he wants to get away from Joe's confused eyes, and even more so from the palpable hurt in them. He understands that running away from it won't solve the problem, that, instead, it is very likely to make it even worse, but he's not ready to face it just yet. His ribs are indeed giving him hell, and it's ridiculous how emotional state can affect the physical one.

What Ben wants is to come back, take Joe in his arms, say that he's sorry for feeling what he's feeling and ask him to help him figure out what exactly is wrong, but he simply cannot. While shuffling to the bedroom, with his back turned to the man he knows he loves, he does understand that this is what people's stupid superficial quarrels stem from, from their walking away just like he's doing now, from their unwillingness to talk, acknowledge their own faults and have an ounce of empathy for others, but he still cannot do anything about it. He is angry, even though it's hard to say with whom or what – perhaps Joe, for failing to understand him even though he hasn't yet made a single attempt to explain himself; maybe with himself, for the same reason; or with his insolently aching ribcage and this dreadful spell of nasty weather. Joe must be pissed off at him, too, and perhaps they both have a right to be feeling like that – after all, it's never pleasant to admit that something doesn't go as well as it was expected to, so maybe it really would be more sensible to let things cool down just a bit to avoid turning a small argument into something of global proportions. Ben knows it does happen that way all the time, has had a chance to learn that from personal bitter experience, and the fact that Joe doesn't say anything or follow him perhaps implies that Joe understands it as well.

Upstairs, Ben strips off his clothes, takes a quick shower to wash off the stinky ointment he's using to relieve the pain, and crawls into bed, settling on the very edge of it. First, he lies on his back, but that doesn't seem to be psychologically comfortable. What he really wants to do is to be able to curl up on himself, shielding himself from the world around him, Joe included. That's beyond physically possible given his injury, though, so he's got to settle for lying on his good side facing the wall. It isn't particularly comfortable but it'll have to do as it gives him some illusion of privacy.

Which, all things considered, is pretty absurd because being lonely is what he's just been complaining about. Suppressing yet another sigh, Ben screws up his eyes and bites his lower lip, hard. So much for a nice few days spent together.

*


	2. Chapter 2

_We talk about it all night long_  
_We define our moral ground._  
_But when I crawl into your arms_  
_Everything comes tumbling down.*©_

***

Joe remains where he is for a very long while, standing in the hall and staring into space like an idiot, which he most certainly is. He's feeling as if he'd just been trampled under the hooves of some horsemen of the apocalypse, and really, he can't quite come up with a better definition for what's just happened here. He's got no idea as to how much time must have passed when he finally comes to his senses – well, more or less, anyway, it's hard to do when one has just realised that his life is perhaps on its way to hell in a handbasket.

Joe shuffles to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water, feeling like he's in his nineties not thirties, the weight of what Ben said pressing down on him and making it hard to breathe. For some reason, he wonders whether it's how Ben feels because of his broken ribs, every single inhale he tries to drag in as if simply refusing to go all the way to his lungs, and then decides he's being ridiculous. In Ben's situation, every single breath must hurt. Joe sets himself onto one of the high stools at the kitchen counter, sipping his water while trying to focus on getting his breathing under control, trying not to collapse into millions of pieces of shattered hopes. Every time he brings the glass up to his lips, its rim clinks against his teeth because the hand holding it is trembling.

_Well, shit._

Joe swallows another sip, doing his best to convince himself that he's being paranoid. It's just a quarrel. No, hell, screw that, it wasn't even a proper quarrel, was it? They hardly even shouted at each other, it was just a rather short exchange of some unpleasantries, but even that's not particularly true, is it? They didn't call each other names or anything like that. That said, though, underneath all this layer of _not-quite-a-quarrel_ there's apparently a whole sea of misunderstanding and unvoiced dissatisfaction the existence of which Joe had absolutely no fucking clue about. What he told Ben was true, that he'd indeed noticed some change in his behaviour once he'd moved to New York but it was so minor it really was hard to get worried about. Or, in light of what Ben's told him, perhaps Joe simply turned a blind eye to it, on purpose, not wishing to see it. _Was it really like this?_ he wonders, carefully sipping his water.

Shit, this entire situation suddenly begins to seem like a damn snowball rolling down a slope, gaining mass and momentum as it does so, and Joe feels like he's standing right at the very bottom of the said mountain, having been completely unaware of what's going on until it's way too late to do something about it, and now this fucking snowball is rolling right at him, an unstoppable fucking force bound to terminate him on the spot at the moment of collision.

There's a bottle of good old whiskey in the cupboard, one he actually brought from that trip to Scotland he went on with Ben and Gwil, and for a while Joe contemplates fetching it and getting shitfaced. Or maybe he should go out and find some bar and get shitfaced there instead. Infuriatingly, neither option seems even remotely attractive – he must be getting too old for all this _getting-drunk-in-an-attempt-to-escape-from-his-miseries_ thing. So he remains where he is, at the kitchen counter sipping water and willing his hands to stop shaking, trying to appeal to his common sense, trying to fit all these new pieces of knowledge Ben has kindly provided him with into the picture of the world he thought he knew.

So this is not working out, huh? It hurts, but Joe dearly hopes Ben really put his foot in it the first time he said it, and what he meant was New York itself, and not them. He doesn't particularly like that, he doesn't understand why the hell it is so or why the hell Ben even agreed to move here in the first place and why the hell he didn't tell him anything about it until just a few hours ago; and yes, it does make him pissed off, now much less than while he was arguing with Ben whatever amount of time ago that was, but he's still sore; offended, too, for not having been told anything about it; annoyed by Ben's choice to run away instead of talking it all through or at least giving Joe an explanation he certainly deserves. He's all of those things, yes, but at the same time, he's also worried out of his mind, about the two of them as well as about Ben, because of his idiotic injury and his obviously oppressed state and because of what he's been going through here, apparently all on his own; he's also desperate to remedy it all somehow even though he can't quite see how any of it is his fault and he believes he won't be able to until they have a chance to talk, and he has no idea when that chance will come bearing in mind that Ben's due to leave New York the next day and Joe's bound for LA the day after that. And he's already missing Ben – he's been missing him for the past three weeks, and now that they have their unlikely chance to be with each other for just a few unplanned days, look how they're using this time, squabbling over something Joe has a very vague idea about. _Shit_.

A part of him longs to go upstairs, to their bedroom, gather the insufferable idiot into his arms and just hold him there until he either explains to Joe in plain language what the fuck is wrong or simply stops being miserable altogether. The other part of him is still mad at Ben, not wanting to see any of him anytime soon unless he wants to provoke himself and just choke the asshole. And then there's yet another part that feels on some intuitive level that for the time being Ben wants to be left alone. So, finally finishing his water, Joe heads for the living room, plops himself onto the sofa and switches on the TV, wishing like nothing else to just distract from that sickening whirlpool of thoughts in his head. Here he was, thinking that everything was running as smoothly as it possibly could, and then reality just flew in like some bat out of hell and smacked him right in the face, and it turned out everything wasn't quite like he had imagined it to be. They need to talk and they can't talk now, so he needs to stop winding himself up because of nothing. Maybe it's not all that bad. Ben did say sorry and he did say he didn't mean that there was something wrong with them, so they ought to work it out in the end.

Predictably enough, TV is shit at helping him to distract from anything – first sports news, then evening current affairs program, then some replay of a tennis match all go mainly unnoticed by Joe, even though from time to time he remembers why the hell he's on the sofa and makes a conscious attempt to distract. A few hours pass in this manner before he finally gets tired of pretending that he doesn’t give a damn. He does, and he isn't angry with Ben anymore, and he's also tired and sleepy, and spending a night on the couch in his own house and not in bed with his man seems like an absolutely ridiculous idea, especially given the fact that the man in question is leaving in less than twenty-four hours for another two weeks, and that's at the most optimistic estimation. So Joe switches off the TV and heads upstairs to take a quick shower and join Ben in bed, where he could quit missing him at last.

In the bedroom, the lights are off, but there's enough moonlight spilling in through the uncurtained window, silvery cold, to let Joe find his way to the bed easily. The moon itself is visible hanging in the sky with its eternal grimace of a martyr.

 _More drama_ , Joe remarks silently, feeling less than amused, _couldn't be more suitable now, could it?_

Ben occupies even less than a half of the bed, curled on its very edge facing the wall, something he rarely does, normally preferring to cling to Joe while they're sleeping, limbs either wrapped around or simply thrown over his body. It gives an impression that he is doing his best to distance himself from Joe, and it hurts, so profoundly Joe stops in his tracks right in the middle of the room, just taking in the whole picture. All of a sudden, it also evokes another fit of abject fear of losing Ben. He knows there really are no implications for it, not yet anyway, their little quarrel couldn't have been serious enough to cause anything of that magnitude.

 _Or could it?_  Joe wonders inside his head.

His common sense tells him he's being absurd, but his loving heart painfully squeezes in his chest all the same. Besides, he does feel guilty. He shouldn't have got all wound up. He should have noticed there really was something wrong with Ben way earlier, in the first place. He genuinely regrets both, though, and now that the cat's been let out if the bag, he's prepared to do whatever it takes to amend for it. If he has to beg, he'll do just that because he's not going to let some foolish quarrel that rose out of nothing jeopardise his relationship with Ben.

Softly, he closes the door behind him. Partly, he is careful not to wake Ben up in case he's fallen asleep, but mainly he's simply feeling ashamed and doesn't really know how to proceed further. Then he cautiously tiptoes to the bed and climbs into it, for the time being settling down with his back leaned against the headrest, close to Ben but trying not to invade his personal space. Admittedly, the personal space he leaves him is but a mere few inches but that's way more than there normally is between them. With Ben, the very notion of what personal space is has undergone severe reconsideration because, as a rule, when there are only the two of them and no prying eyes around, there's no space left between them at all. And that's something Joe very much would like to preserve in their relationship.

First, he doesn't even dare to touch Ben, somehow irrationally scared that he will be told to fuck off. Irrationally, because Ben has never told him anything like that, not meaning it seriously anyway. All the same, the air about him is that of coldness and alienation, and it's such an unusual thing to feel – there's been confusion before, and fear, and mild cases of exasperation with each other, but never _this_ , and it makes the entire situation even more frightening.  At last, very tentatively, Joe reaches out and places his hand onto Ben's bare shoulder, fist simply letting it rest there and then tightening its hold ever so cautiously. Ben doesn't react in any way, not acknowledging Joe's presence nor moving away from him, which is perhaps not all that encouraging but at least not completely discouraging either. Joe sighs and slides his hand down along Ben's upper arm, ever so slowly, fingertips brushing over his bicep. It twitches beneath Joe's touch, letting Joe know that Ben's most certainly awake after all. He stops the movement of his hand immediately, letting it linger where it is in uncertainty, half-wrapped around Ben's upper arm.

"Ben?" he calls softly, and, somehow, this entire situation reminds him distinctly of the very first night they spent together back at Ben's place in London, a night Joe is sure he'll never forget no matter what happens, a night which rightfully takes the first position for being the most terrifying and blissful night he's ever had.

Just like then, now there's no response from the man, and just like then Joe is totally lost as to what to think. If he makes a move, will he be pushed away this time? Or will Ben allow him to make amends for whatever happened earlier? When there's nothing at all but Ben's very soft breathing for a long while, Joe decides he's unlikely to get a reply, so he simply goes on, hoping Ben has had enough time to cool down by now. He huddles closer until he's lying alongside Ben, the front of his body pressed snugly to his man's back. His arm wraps gingerly around Ben's waist – he's sleeping naked at least from his waist up, and there's a flash of compulsive desire to check whether he's at the same stage of undress down there below it. His lips end up pressed to Ben's shoulder, ever so softly, not even planting a kiss there, merely resting against his skin, warm and smooth and so blessedly real.

And then Joe's hand slips further south of its own accord, desperate to find out if there's more skin to touch there under the blanket. This isn't exactly what Joe had in mind when he headed for bed – what he intended was to fall asleep, and if it turned out Ben was still awake – to try to talk, calmly this time. Yet being this close to him, Joe simply cannot resist the appeal, he never could – the physical attraction to Ben is of the intensity Joe never before felt to anyone else; it feels like he's in his late teens again, wanting to screw pretty much anything that moved; only in this case the only person he wants to screw is Ben, but he seems to want it all the time. Besides, these past weeks have been hard – first not seeing Ben for a hell of a lot of time and then seeing him, being with him but not being able to get enough of what he wants because of Ben's injury.

So now, in the dead of night filled with the pale moonlight, wrapped in the darkness lurking in the corners of the bedroom, safe, he doesn’t give a damn about talking anymore, about either saying sorry or hearing Ben's apologies, about figuring out what they'll do about this entire clusterfuck of a situation – the only thing he wants is the proof that when he wraps his fingers around Ben's dick, it will get hard for him.

So Joe allows his hand to leave Ben's waist and travel downwards, palm pressed flat against those firm abs, brushing over that thin trail of fine hairs running from Ben's navel to his crotch, and yes indeed, there's no waistband of any sort of underwear in the way and soon Joe's hand strokes over the patch of equally fair hair. Against Ben's shoulder, he smiles and kisses the warm skin beneath his lips, lingeringly.

Carefully, he rakes his fingers through that fluff between Ben's legs and finds his cock, warm and flaccid. He takes it into his hand, for the time being stroking it with just his thumb and fore-and middle fingers. When he does that, Ben stirs against him, lightly, taking a slightly deeper breath than the previous ones. He still wouldn't say anything at all, but for the time being that's perfectly all right – what Joe intends to hear is not words, not anymore. He goes on, methodically, teasing and pulling at Ben's dick, playing with the foreskin; nothing but feathery caresses for now as he fondles and tickles him down there, amusing himself with that maddening sensation of another man's flesh against the tips of his fingers. The skin there feels velvety soft and hot and dry and absolutely impossible to take his hands off, and the sheer sensation of that fine soft dick becoming harder under the ministrations of his hand, the feel of blood pumping into it, making it grow and swell in his hold, is such a bliss Joe is the first to break the silence in the room again.

"My darling," he murmurs against Ben's shoulder, and this is when he finally responds to Joe, both vocally and using his body language.

Once that _'darling'_ part is out of Joe's mouth, Ben pulls in a shuddering breath – somewhere at the back of his mind Joe wonders whether it still hurts him to do so – and thrusts his hips into Joe's hand, just a tiny motion but that's all Joe needs to know right now. Ben's breath hitches again, and this time it does sound a little pained.

"C'mere," Joe whispers and takes his hand off Ben's dick for just long enough to relocate it to his chest and gently beckon him to roll onto his back.

He moves back, too, to give Ben an opportunity to change his position, simultaneously sliding his arm around Ben's shoulders thus taking a little strain off his bruised ribcage to allow him to move less painfully. Thus, he ends up on his side pressed flush against Ben, with one arm under his shoulders, mouth hungry on Ben's even before the latter has the chance to roll onto his back properly, kissing him good and deep, all tongue and teeth, making Ben gasp from the sheer persistent force of it. The soft sound vibrates though Joe's lips, and it sends a hot jolt though his own cock, by now also fully engorged and straining against the fabric of his shorts. Joe knows he needs to hear more of it, he wants to feel Ben come while he's still possessing his mouth, he wants to feel the reverberations of his orgasmic moaning with his own lips.

While they're sharing this kiss, intense and desperate and greedy, Joe feels Ben's hand suddenly finding his free one, squeezing it almost painfully tightly and then almost yanking it down, towards his crotch, and Joe doesn't need to be told twice what to do. The only thing he allows Ben is to wrap his fingers around himself, not because he's waiting for a command from him as to what to do next but merely because it feels mind-blowingly good to know that Ben needs him there, needs his touch, and the convulsive way his hold tightens over Joe's hand on his erection is breath-taking.

Joe gets down to business, no more teasing, and Ben's fingers slip off his at last, giving him the freedom of motion to do what both of them want to do. Joe wishes he had enough presence of mind to get the lube to make it all slick enough to work smoothly, but he can't be arsed right now, it's too late for that so Ben will have to bear with that little discomfort dry friction creates. Besides, judging by the sounds he's making, there no discomfort and only want, desire so strong and desperate it seems he might simply die if Joe stops doing what he's doing. Somehow, it reminds him of that encounter they had back when Ben told him he wanted them to live together, the way he seemed both needy and dismayed, desperately hungry for Joe's touch and Joe's words and Joe's dick, and the irony of it all doesn't escape him now even though it's hard to concentrate on anything at all but the feel of Ben's thick flesh in his hand, the moisture of the precum against his thumb, and Ben's tongue in his mouth. Still, Joe remembers that night and how preoccupied Ben was and how badly he craved the intimacy with him, and something hits home at last, all the while he's methodically jerking Ben off.

This situation is so similar to that one, what with Ben's confusion and his cryptic silence on the matter and now this greediness with which his sucks on Joe's tongue humming into his mouth, that for a moment Joe curses himself for being an idiot once again. He should have known better. Sooner. There's no problem with  _them_ , of course there isn't. There's a problem with Ben wanting something else, wanting more and apparently thinking too much, sticking to that habit of his to mull over something until it drives him to distraction.

Joe leaves Ben's mouth for just long enough to whisper, _'Oh baby,'_ into his lips and then catch them with his own a moment later. Ben moans against him, _into_ him, and it feels like there's something connecting them, or maybe it's just their breaths mingling together so much they literally inhale each other. Joe is rock-hard by now but he doesn't care. It's not about him, it's not about getting off or making up, it's not even about pleasing Ben per se, it's more proving to himself that Ben needs him, needs this, that he has got something which will keep his man here with him because no one else can give it to him, no one but Joe. Not leaving Ben's lips and not interrupting the regular motion of his hand on Ben's dick, he relocates his other arm which is currently trapped beneath Ben's shoulders so that it can squeeze its way under his neck, leaving Ben's head lie in the crook of his elbow. It effectively fixes him in this position, not allowing him to move away or turn his head anywhere to avoid Joe's mouth, and that's exactly what he needs.

He wants to feel Ben's orgasm, not only get his hand covered in his seed but experience the sensation of what he's going through. So he speeds the motion of his hand on Ben's cock, concentrating on that part of it closer to its head, thumb pressed and sliding against its underside to intensify the sensation, and presses his mouth to Ben's even more firmly. He sucks at his lips and tongue, not allowing Ben to escape and all those desperate chocked noises Ben is making go straight to his own dick, making it throb.

Ben moans and jerks his head away, temporarily being able to gasp for breath but Joe resumes his position in no time at all, allowing Ben to gulp just this once. Then his mouth is on Ben's mouth again, hot breath and teeth and tongues clashing, nice and slick, and then Ben doesn't make a single attempt to move away anymore, either understanding what Joe wants from him or simply wanting the same thing. Instead, Joe feels Ben's fingers rake through the hair on the back of his head, gripping it and thus bringing Joe's face even closer, sealing their mouths together. Up until the moment he comes, Ben keeps making those beautiful noises, vocalised gasps and moans and hums muffled into Joe's mouth, and Joe feels his lips reverberate with them, feels Ben's breath down his throat, feels the pliant way of his tongue allowing Joe to do whatever the hell he wants, giving in, surrendering control and initiative because oh, he's close, he's so damn close, just a few more strokes, rough ones, precise, to draw it all out of Ben's dick, to draw those sounds out of his mouth. And then Ben tenses, and Joe's overfilled with sensation, too, those of the familiar sticky warmth of semen splashing onto his hand, the jerk of hips, the pull of Ben's hand on his hair, and most brilliant of them all, the throaty sound he produces, a mixture of a hum and a moan and a scream, all muffled into Joe's mouth, Ben thrashing beneath him in an attempt to turn his head and gasp for breath, but Joe keeps him where he is, holding his head with his arm and mouth, stealing those beautiful sounds from his lips, all his, all belonging to him like Ben belongs to him. Finally, Ben's hand relocates from Joe's hair to his shoulder, fingers digging into his flesh hard, and he manages to turn his head away from Joe's mouth at last, with something resembling a choked sob. He buries his face in the crook of Joe's neck instead, trembling all over, every gasp vocalised.

"Shhhhh, it's all right," Joe murmurs, also short of breath. "'Tis all right, all okay, baby."

He hugs Ben properly now, letting him catch his breath while he's clinging to him for dear life, and oh, that's such a satisfying feeling after all that happened earlier, after all that atrocious uncertainty and mutual accusations, to just know that here in bed everything is still as it should be.

Joe's own dick feels on the verge of bursting, too, but for the time being he tries to ignore it, concentrating on the feeling of Ben's arms around him and his mouth on his skin, not even caring much if he doesn't get off at all. This is already better than any orgasm he could have got, so he is almost surprised when he feels Ben fumbling blindly for his hard-on, and when his hand finally locates it, it wraps around firmly, apparently wishing to return the favour but do it as fast as he can. Joe doesn't mind, he's past caring and he just needs release to be able to concentrate on what he wants to tell Ben afterwards. It doesn't take him long – even in a state like this Ben knows him well enough to find a way to jerk him off quickly and efficiently. Joe comes without letting out any sound at all, kissing the top of Ben's head, holding him, holding onto him, relishing this intimacy he's been missing so badly over the past weeks, intimacy which must have been intensified by this quarrel they've had.

"So is it what make up sex's like?" Joe mutters long after he's done. "Means we're over it, huh?"

When Ben doesn't reply, he sighs and changes his position a little so that his nose ends up buried into the fair ruffled strands of Ben's hair. 

"I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier," he goes on quietly. "Didn't really mean to."

To his anxiety, Ben doesn't respond immediately, and even though Joe wants to keep nagging him about it, repeating that he's sorry and demanding to be forgiven, he knows it doesn't work like that. Even so, it proves to be incredibly hard to just shut up at the right moment and give Ben time to either think it over or come up with whatever he wants to say, if anything at all, or simply give him the right to remain silent and not to answer anything at all. It's not a pleasant wait, though, common sense or not, and in the silence of their bedroom, Joe wonders apprehensively what he will do if Ben refuses to talk to him.

Finally, Ben lets out a slightly shaky sigh but still doesn't produce a single word. Then, his hand finds Joe's and wraps around his fingers, very slowly and somehow timidly. When Ben's thumb starts its slow motion over his knuckles, Joe dares to let out a sigh of relief. He's not sure if Ben's doing it consciously or simply out of habit, but he prefers to take it as a positive sign.

"I guess maybe you had the right to," Ben says at last. "I should have told you about it."

"Why didn't you?" Joe asks softly.

This time around, he aims for a soothing tone, hoping Ben will manage to sense that there's nothing provocative about it, not anymore. He shifts his hand in Ben's hold, letting them rest palm to palm, and then interlaces their fingers together.

"I don't know…" Ben replies, sounding genuinely lost. "I don't think I really understood what exactly was wrong until you brought it up. Wasn't even aware I was  _sulking_ ," he huffs almost soundlessly. "Was just feeling miserable and pitying myself, and I shouldn't even have allowed it to come to that."

"I didn't imagine it was this hard on you," Joe sighs, squeezing Ben's hand in his. "Honestly, even though I should have, I guess. I just took it for granted that, since you agreed to move here, it was just fine with you."

"I don't know what went wrong, Joe." There's an audible click in his throat as he says it. "It's not about us, I should never have put it that way. It's about New York, I want to love it, I've been trying to love it but I can't. It was more or less bearable before I left, but this has just… don't know, this fucking weather and this fucking injury and being here on my own just…" Joe hears him drag in a laborious breath, apparently doing his best not to bother his ribs too much. "It still feels alien to me, like everything's in the wrong place. Maybe it'll get better after a while, I don't know."

Joe gives Ben's hand another brief squeeze and then shifts on the mattress so that he could lie alongside him, elbow propped into the pillow. For a while, he simply looks at him through the darkness surrounding them, eyes running over the familiar curve of Ben's lips. Lovely lips. Kissable lips. Lips for which a smile suits much better than this sad grimace.

"Let's move to England then, huh?" Joe asks at last, eyes still pinned to Ben's mouth as if he were mesmerised.

Perhaps that's exactly what he is, because he never before in his entire life seriously contemplated moving anywhere from New York. Then he lifts up his gaze and meets Ben's utterly stunned eyes.

"You mean—"

"Yeah," Joe replies before Ben has a chance to finish his question. "If New York isn't working out, let's try London?"

"Are you joking?" Ben whispers, looking up at him wide-eyed.

"After that shouting match we had?" Joe asks a question of his own. "Nope, can't say I'm in any mood for jokes, not after that."

"But you love New York…"

"Well, I do, but who says I wouldn't be able to love London? I'd stay here with you gladly enough, but since it doesn't seem to be going particularly well for you… I want you happy, Ben, and if London is the requirement, fuck it, let's go."

For a few long seconds, Ben simply keeps staring up at him, as if not able to believe Joe isn't pulling his leg, those lovely eyes big with surprise and those full lips Joe loves to kiss so much parted. He looks so adorable in his genuine confusion that Joe can't help but chuckle.

"You look like you don't believe I can offer you such a thing," he smiles gently, then frees his hand and relocates it to Ben's cheek, his thumb leaving a soft caress along his cheekbone. "I thought we agreed on being honest with each other, whatever happens. All you needed to do was tell me about it instead of overthinking it all on your own. I was beginning to think there was a worse problem than that."

"I… I could've never thought you'd agree to…" Ben trails off. "Damn, now I'm feeling like I'm a selfish bastard, forcing you to go there just because I—"

"No," Joe whispers firmly, shakes his head and presses his mouth to Ben's in an attempt to interrupt that foolish thing he's about to say. "You were the one to give in and stay here with me in the first place even though I know you love London as much as I love New York. I owe you as much. Besides, between New York and you, I think my choice would be obvious."

"Joe, that wasn't an ultimatum," Ben protests.

"I know it wasn't, but I also know that you're one stubborn bastard who'd stick around here no matter how much this city rubs the wrong way against you, just because you said you would. I don't want that, Ben," he sighs. "I want both of us to be okay, so let's try London if that's where your heart is."

"Well, shit…" Ben mutters and swallows hard, closing his eyes. "I'll be damned."

Joe huffs again and leans in closer to kiss Ben's warm cheek. "Would you stop swearing at me, you fool?"

Ben sighs and turns his head so that their lips end up pressed together again, this time in a soft, close-mouthed kiss which lingers for a while.

"Which dates are you thinking about?" Ben asks when Joe pulls back.

"Well, first things first, I guess I'll need some time to get everything arranged here, but first you're going back to finish the shooting anyway, and so am I. And if you're done there before me, you can head straight for London, and I'll join you as soon as I sort it all out here. I mean, if New York's way too much."

But Ben shakes his head. "I'm not going anywhere without you. If we're moving to London, we're moving together. I'm fed up with all that saying good-bye thing, can't say I'm missing the fucking misery of letting you go or having to leave. We'll go whenever we're both ready to go then."

Ben's voice is hushed as he says it all but every single word he utters seems to reverberate through Joe's very core, echoing with something akin sweet ache in his chest, and he's once again reminded why he loves this beautiful man. For a while, Joe simply looks at him, at every single feature of his face one by one; Ben's tousled hair, fair and wavy, a few strands lying against the dark pillowcase in disarray; his eyes, enchanting in their cat-like shape and colour, eyelashes fair and sun-faded at their tips; his cheekbones and his nose and those sensual lips of his, lips which seem like they were made to be kissed, and oh yes, the man certainly knows how to put them to good use. Joe watches him, silently, and he knows that no matter what kind of words he might come up with, they wouldn't be able to express the depth of his feeling; it simply seems beyond any linguistic means of expression.

He still says them, though, and why not – there could never be too many love confessions, after all, can there?

"I love you, Ben," he murmurs softly. "I used to think I loved before, but with you it's a whole new level."

He hears Ben swallow and then feels one of his hands coming to rest on his upper arm. It tugs at it, pulling him down gently but persistently.

"Come here," he whispers, wrapping his other arm around Joe's waist more substantially. "Please."

"Careful," Joe warns, not wishing to cause Ben more discomfort than he's already in because of his bruised ribs.

"I'm fine, I just…" he shakes his head and gives Joe a smile which is so open and which contains so much raw emotion Ben doesn't need to say anything at all to make it known. "I need you."

Joe gives in – because he needs it, too, and ever since they were reunited here a few days back, it hasn't been enough yet – and lowers himself carefully on top of Ben, who hisses the very next moment and lets out a choked curse.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Joe mutters lifting his weight off Ben immediately. "Shit, I'm sorry. You're okay?"

Before answering, Ben blows out a breath through his pursed lips. "Yeah," he says but he is slightly short of breath. "Damn those fucking ribs, I'm so fed up with it all."

"Because, I swear, Ben, you're one great idiot," Joe huffs, unable to help it because, really, this is ridiculous. "You've been told to have a fucking week of rest, and what the hell have you been up to? Running around the goddamn city for half a day as if you were stung in the ass ever since you came back in hope that your busted ribs will get better after such treatment?"

In reply, Ben only chuckles, and then winces immediately.

"Oh you fucker," Joe sighs, exasperated.

"I'm not allowed to stay in bed all day," Ben objects but rather sheepishly at that. "Was told to move around."

"I bet the doc's idea of moving around didn't imply obsessively covering goddamn twenty kilometres per day, huh, or is my medical knowledge somewhat off?"

"Are we arguing again, eh?" Ben smiles up at him.

"I'm not arguing with you, I'm done with arguing with you, I'm just plainly telling you that you're an impossible dumbass."

Ben huffs and then smiles again, looking in equal amounts uncertain, ashamed and relieved.

"Well, it's got a little better, after all. A week ago, I wouldn't've been able to handle what you just did to me, you'd have got me howling, and not from the pleasure of it," he murmurs, and this time there's that cheeky smile Joe absolutely cannot stay indifferent to.

He sighs, shakes his head and then snuggles next to Ben, being careful to wrap his arm around his waist, way below his bruised ribcage.

"Shut the fuck up," he whispers against Ben's cheek and then places a kiss onto his warm skin. "Promise me you'll be careful, all right? No more stupid stunts?"

"Joe, I've never done stupid stunts—"

"Uh-huh."

"Only serious ones," Ben goes on, the insolent bastard that he is.

"Ben, please—"

"And I'm always careful."

"I don't trust any of your damn filming crew to keep you safe. Don't trust _you_ anymore, either."

"Oh really?"

"Yes," Joe states and hooks his leg over one of Ben's, as if that could possibly keep that moron safe. "Because this last time I let you go, I got you back with bruises, broken ribs and on the verge of some kind of breakdown yelling at me at the top of your lungs that nothing was working out. I don't want that again, thank you very much."

"Joe—"

"I know, I know," Joe raises his hand from Ben's hip for long enough to wave it in mock reconciliation and then puts it back where it belongs. "It's not what you meant to say, but still… Promise me you'll take care? Because now there's someone for you to come home to."

For a while, Ben remains silent but this time it feels comfortable, not threatening. Then he turns his head, just a little, and his lips end up pressing to Joe's chin. Joe leans in to turn it into another lingering kiss.

"I'm sorry it turned into such a shit circus," Ben murmurs, not bothering to lift his mouth off Joe's.

"That's okay," Joe replies in kind and squeezes his hand on Ben's hip, thumb brushing over the hipbone. "But really, promise me you'll stay safe, Ben."

"I will," he says and, to his relief, Joe feels a tiniest of nods.

This settles it. They don't talk anymore and don't do anything else, both worn out by now. Joe knows Ben falls asleep pretty fast afterwards – the tell-tale sign is his breathing acquiring that even, gentle pattern – but his own sleep refuses to come for quite a while. Part of it is that he was way too wound up just recently, and another is that he's loath to let Ben go again next day, so he simply watches his sleeping frame snuggled cosily next to him.

And, suddenly, it gets so hard to breathe Joe has to purposefully drag breaths in and out to relax the clenched muscles in his throat. Ben's lying on his back, Joe's hand held tightly in his own against his chest, his other one covering their joint hands. He looks awfully young like this, boyish, what with his ruffled hair and parted full lips, and Joe realises that he really  _is_  young. You couldn't call him a boy, not anymore, but Joe realises he's got eight years on Ben; eight years of life experience, and, suddenly, he feels like such a great incredible idiot it hurts. He even feels his cheeks heating up because, really, he should have known better, should have understood that there was something wrong earlier, before the shit hit the fan today. Ben's macho image aside, a well-built boy with a pretty face, the type normally characterised as a heartthrob, he is an extremely sensitive person, way more than he's willing to show to anyone. Joe knows it and he should have remembered about it, too. He's also the one to fall hard and fast and reluctant to let go, responsible to the point of obsessiveness, thinking too much at times and caring too much at others. Joe supposes life tends to make tough cookies even out of such people if they aren't lucky enough to meet someone who'd understand and appreciate such quality, but Ben is still way too young to turn into one. Joe scolds himself for not understanding what was going on earlier, for letting Ben simmer in whatever he imagined to himself was happening, letting that guilt work its way into him.

This realisation in its turn evokes his own suppressed fears. He knows they're most certainly unreasonable, but it doesn't change anything or make them go away, so he supposes he'll always be scared of losing Ben, of doing something wrong or not right enough which will make him want to leave. He's so possessive and jealous when it comes to this particular relationship, something he hand't quite known he was before he met Ben. Sometimes, Joe wonders with fear what will happen if one day Ben gets tired of all this, what if he wants a proper family – he's way too young to sacrifice himself to, of all things, living with him. He's desired by thousands, why stick with him?

But then Joe forces himself to acknowledge that it was Ben who agreed to come to live with him here in the first place; he was the one who proposed the mere idea of it while Joe was ready to take whatever Ben offered him; even if it was some occasional friendly fuck, he'd have stuck with it. He remembers that Ben refused to admit that something was not going exactly as planned for the sole reason that he knew just how reluctant Joe was to leave New York in favour of any other place. He remembers all those times Ben was there for him, sometimes spending hours on the phone talking him back to life after his dad had passed away, sometimes holding him, sometimes just giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze, sometimes simply being there. 

Once again, Joe buries his nose into Ben's tousled hair, pulling in a lungful of his smell, and it seems to be the only right smell he's ever felt, the smell of home, and Joe doesn't want to loosen his arms and let Ben out of them, not tomorrow, not ever; he wants to keep him there where he is, close, safe and knowing what's on his mind. Shit, he'd go to the blasted north pole if Ben said that was where he'd love to live. This feeling, impulsive and profound, stirs some thought in Joe's head, one which he never had any desire to contemplate before but which, all of a sudden, seems to have acquired a perfect reason to be there. It still seems to be totally crazy, but Joe believes he's got enough time on his hands to try to figure it out properly until they meet next time.

*

They get a chance to realise their plan in three weeks, reunited at last when both are done with their respective projects. As a matter of fact, their moving to London makes so many people happy it's nothing short of astonishing. For some reason, Joe's never really realised just how many friendships and relationships he actually has in England now. Half of their filming crew live here, and Joe really wouldn't mind seeing all those wonderful people more often; sticking to his old habit, Gwil keeps trolling the two of them but it's obvious he's over the moon to have his two mates finally living in the same city he does; Lucy and Rami have long almost permanently moved to London as well, and Ben's family and friends welcome them both with open arms.

The initial reason why their choice fell on New York was that they assumed it'd be much less complicated to keep their relationship private there and also because Joe was reluctant to stay away from his family for long. Now, though, he realises that he doesn't really give a single damn about whether everyone knows that they are living together, sleeping together and fucking each other or not because he loves Ben and this is what two people loving each other are supposed to do anyway and it's not anyone's business but theirs. As to being close to family, it'd be ridiculous to deny the fact that Ben's his family now, so if it's London, it's London. Besides, he's spent so much time here ever since the moment they started filming the Rhapsody movie that London has every right to be called his second home anyway.

Even though they both have done their fair share of skipping across the Atlantic Ocean between New York and London, it simply won't cease to stop being exhausting, not to mention the obnoxious jetlag which seems to catch up on you at the most inappropriate of times. Initially, they planned to have some sort of housewarming party, just for the two of them, but all they were capable to accomplishing was unpacking their stuff and ordering some pre-prepared dinner to be consumed in peace and quiet of Ben's place. They end up sharing a bottle of wine while sitting on the floor in the living room, their backs against the sofa and their shoulders touching, not even bothering with getting themselves some glasses for it.

"I can't believe this is all happening for real," Ben says quietly.

He doesn't look at Joe. Instead, his eyes are pinned to some invisible spot on the floor between them as he's slowly rotating the almost empty bottle in his hands, fingers rubbing at its neck absently. Joe watches him doing it for a while, unable to take his eyes off his hands; hands he's wanted so many times on himself so badly; hands which have studied him intimately by now; beautiful hands of a beautiful man, and yes, Joe can't quite believe it either, that it's his man and he's with him in London. They've been at it for coming on one and a half years now, and no, it simply refuses to turn into something ordinary, something to be taken for granted, and Joe doesn't mind it that way.

"I think I haven't been quite able to believe anything which has been happening ever since the moment we started filming the Rhapsody," he smirks softly and reaches out to take that bottle from Ben's hands.

Ben surrenders it willingly enough, and Joe takes a swig from it, the wine tasting sweet and tart on his tongue, bringing a nice lick of liquid fire down his throat. It warms him inside, along with this feeling he has for Ben. Then he motions with the bottle towards Ben, wordlessly offering him to drink up the rest, but the latter only shakes his head, not saying anything. Joe nods, puts the bottle between them on the floor and reaches out to take one of those hands into his own, smoothly slipping his fingers through Ben's warm ones. He hears a quiet chuckle and only now looks up to take a glance at him. Ben meets him with a warm stare of his captivating eyes, shining tonight somehow exceptionally brightly, and Joe simply can't bear it, the amount of pure uncurbed affection in them. Shaking his head and smiling, he leans in and rests his forehead against Ben's soft, hoodie-clad, shoulder, breathing in the scent of freshly washed fabric which has another faint smell to it, one which belongs to Ben's body, and this is the smell of home for Joe, has been ever since the moment they ended up in one bed, in this very house, shortly after Christmas. For a while, Joe allows himself to reflect on it, silently, remember in detail just how anxious and apprehensive he was, and just how irresistible was that force that drew him towards Ben, towards the warmth of his body, towards his lips. He still remembers that absolutely novel, just a tad prickly sensation against his lips as they pressed to Ben's cheek for the very first time, and that scent of him, masculine, and the firm feel of his toned body beneath his hands, and then the unambiguous hardness pressed against one of his thighs, and Joe was gone, just like that, feeling Ben's desire, feeling the response of his own body to it, wanting a man desperately, wanting him like he'd never wanted anything or anyone in his entire life.

And, astonishingly, it's still the same, even more profound now that they've had a chance to get to know each other more intimately and learn each other's preferences and little quirks that get them off. It's still breath-taking every time he feels the press of Ben's full lips against his own, not because kisses are supposed to be arousing but because of the chance to feel the intensity of his man's response, eager and affectionate. It's still a novelty to make love to him – not a confusing kind of it like it mostly was in the beginning but the sensational intimacy they share every single time, loving each other. He's still astounded that mere thinking about another man's dick turns him on, but it is what it is and Joe's never been a big fan of resisting his urges, so if his body decided it needs Ben's dick, let it have it.

Unaware he's doing it, Joe smirks softly against the soft fabric of Ben's hoodie, delighted to have this solid shoulder to rely on and this warm hand on his, thumb running over his knuckles in a soft caress.

"What're you smiling about?" Ben asks. Joe feels him lean in closer and leave a little kiss on the top of his head, which turns the smile into a grin.

"You," he replies, tightening the hold of his hand on Ben's. "About how happy you make me feel."

"You know it's mutual, right?"

"I know, honeybunch," Joe murmurs, and when it provokes a chuckle from Ben, he grins even wider.

"I thought you'd settled for _'baby'_ , but I should've known better," Ben grouses, but it sounds only half-assed. Joe knows he likes all those silly endearments.

"I'll never run out of imagination, kiddo," Joe teases him, turning his head a little so that he could rest his cheek on Ben's shoulder.

He feels Ben shake his head, but he doesn't protest, and Joe knows he's not going to.

"Can you promise me something, Joe?" he asks after a while of comfortable mutual silence, and his voice becomes noticeably more serious.

"I'll try. Shoot."

"If there's ever a problem, or if you don't feel good here in London, or if you think it's not working, or if you feel like going somewhere else, promise to let me know, all right? So that we could work it out. I mean, I love London, it's  _home_ , but if it's not okay for you, we'll try something else. I want you to be happy here. Or wherever we might end up," Ben falls silent for a while. "Just want you happy."

"I will," Joe says honestly, warmed both by the way Ben's voice sounds and by what he's just said. "Though, I guess that even if you decide to take me to freakin' Antarctica to live with pinguins or something, even that will work."

"Good," Ben chuckles, unmistakably content.

They slip into this comfortable, friendly silence again, one which only people who've been around each other for quite a while can share, silence which speaks louder than words could, expressing more than any love confession. It also gives Joe a chance to finally collect his courage and more or less formulate what he's going to say to Ben next, what he's been contemplating hard these past weeks. As if seeking support, he relocates their joint hands to his lap and covers Ben's with his other one.

"In return, can I ask you something, too?"

"Uh-huh?" Ben hums, shifting just a little bit closer, enough to reach out and put his free hand onto Joe's thigh. That feels encouraging enough.

"Will you marry me?" he asks, quietly but articulating every single word as clearly as he can.

For a moment, he's sure Ben's stopped breathing altogether, and it does provoke a pang of anxiety which shoots through his very core. He knows he's pushing things way too far here – it's one thing to be fuckbuddies, another one to live together, and it's an entirely different ball game to talk about marriage. The idea's been brewing in his head for a while, ever since that one and only quarrel they had back in New York, and yes, it might be taking it too far, it might be an utterly crazy proposal, but he knows he wants it, wants to make it right somehow, wants to make sure Ben is his and only his, wants to claim him, as if living with him, sleeping with him and fucking him weren't enough.

"Joe…" Ben says at last, so quietly Joe can barely hear him; it's more of a sigh rather than a word. His hand has stopped its minute ministrations, too.

"I mean," Joe goes on, now desperate to let Ben know it all before he has a chance to reject his proposal and thus make him look like an utter idiot. He wonders if Ben says no, whether it will actually manage to break his heart or if they'll be able to talk it through, too. "I thought you might like the idea, being all conventional in terms of relationships. And back in New York, when you said it wasn't working, I think it was one of the most dreadful moments in my life, so I guess I just want to make sure this is all _really_ real."

"I didn't mean us, Joe," Ben whispers softly. "I put my foot in my mouth and put it all wrong."

"I know, but, back then, I didn't. And I got scared shitless I might lose you. It sort of… I don't know, made such possibility all too realistic for my liking. I don't want it to happen. So I thought…" Joe sighs, feeling a little inadequate, a tad flustered and very unnerved. "I love you, Ben, and I want to be with you, and I want it to be proper. That's most certainly utterly ridiculous and old-fashioned and absolutely needless, but…" he shrugs with a huff. "I want it."

"Wow…" is all Ben says, ever so quietly. Joe has no idea as to how to interpret that, but at the very least he doesn't sound scandalised or revolted.

"I don't have any rings or anything," he chuckles a little nervously, "so I'm probably doing it all wrong, I don't know, I've never proposed to anyone – never  _wanted_  to propose to anyone—"

Ben shakes his head minutely, simultaneously squeezing Joe's hand so tightly in his own that the latter falls silent.

"I don't need any damn rings, Joe. Screw the rings," he huffs. "I need you."

For a while, Joe remains silent because a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion that covers him is too hard to bear. He screws his eyes, too, and bites his lower lip, dragging in a shaky inhale. And only then does he speak.

"So is it a  _yes_?"

"It  _is_  a yes," Ben replies, and albeit still sounding taken aback, his voice is firm. "Let's do it."

This time, Joe allows himself to finally breathe in properly, take in a whole lungful of air, air smelling of Ben, smelling of home, smelling of love. Then he grins, turns his head to plant a proper kiss onto Ben's shoulder, gathers his man into his arms and kisses him again, smack on the mouth, grinning all the way and literally feeling Ben's smile against his own lips.

"My darling," he murmurs, pushing Ben onto the floor with his weight. "My love."

The almost finished bottle of wine standing between them topples over with a clank but no one pays any attention to it whatsoever. They end up on the floor, kissing and laughing, with Joe on top, flush against Ben's body. At first, it's all they're doing – fooling around, exchanging kisses which are more like smiles, light, fluttery things. Ben's hands roam up and down Joe's back as he rubs it with his palms splayed, occasionally drawing up his t-shirt and sneaking beneath it. Joe buries his fingers into Ben's longish hair, massaging his scalp and holding him firmly in place. After a while, though, it gets more serious, and Ben finally relocates his warm hands onto Joe's ass, pushing him firmly down, against himself, grinding his hips against Joe's whilst he's at it. Their breaths mingle, getting heavier by the moment, as their kisses transform into more substantial ones, open-mouthed, sloppy and definitely not smiling anymore.

When Ben spreads his legs, Joe doesn't hesitate to take his by now very customary place between them, rubbing himself against Ben's crotch with regular, powerful thrusts of his hips. The feeling of Ben's hard-on pressed tightly against the bulge in his own pants drives Joe delirious in no time at all even despite the four layers of fabric separating them. It's even better this way, dulling the sensation thus making this sweet delirium last. If he could feel Ben's fever-hot skin against his own, the maddening velvety touch of his hard flesh, the wet drops of pre-cum, he'd be done way sooner than he'd like to be. As it is, though, the material of his underwear serves as a good distraction, simultaneously making the friction feel burning, and Joe's imagination does the rest of the job. By now he's studied and memorised every single feature of Ben's privates, every single vein and crease and fold of skin, he knows what Ben's dick looks like when he's in a state like this, all hard and swollen and flushed, and Joe loves it just like that.

As he thrusts against Ben, creating more pressure rather than friction, he feels one of Ben's hand squeeze on his ass so hard it's almost painful, but he doesn't mind that either – it reminds him who he's doing it with. It's not that gentle female touch, and Joe doesn't really want to feel one; it's a proper groping, rough and unceremonious, and the force of it is unmistakably male, and he'd be damned – or perhaps he already is, and he doesn't care – but he wants it just like this, Ben's strong hands, all those veins standing out prominently on the backs of them, closing on his buttocks with just this amount of possessiveness. He moans into Ben's mouth, sensing the vibrations his own voice creates against Ben's lips, and those hands tighten their hold again, pushing him closer, directing him. Then one of his hands relocates all the way up to the back of Joe's head, doing so in one long smooth caress, and Joe feels Ben's fingers burying themselves into his hair.

Joe takes the hint immediately – talk about sleeping with each other for the past one and a half years – and slides his mouth down to Ben's neck, to that tender sensitive spot just below his jaw. He knows it drives his man frantic, so he obliges and sucks on it enthusiastically enough to leave bruises. Ben's reaction doesn't hesitate to follow – he growls low in his throat, his legs momentarily drawing together, squeezing Joe between his thighs, and then relax, allowing him to continue to grind himself against his dick. Joe knows he loves it more when he fucks him for real, pounding into him while alternately kissing and nipping at that tender spot on his neck with his teeth, but they'll leave that for some other occasion, perhaps for the following morning when both are rested enough. He also knows Ben loves being held – manhandled sometimes, so there's actually no surprise at all that he enjoyed being roughly pulled into Joe's lap and given a nice spanking while personifying Rogerina – so he grabs the hand that's buried into his hair and pins it to the floor, holding it firmly in place with their fingers entwined. He doesn't do so to the other one, though – it feels way too good doing what it's doing to his ass, squeezing and kneading it, so Joe gladly lets it remain where it is.

This, too, doesn't last long – they're more like horny hormonal adolescents together than grown-up men, shooting into their pants after sneaking somewhere into a dark deserted back alley, but who really cares just how exactly they're doing it? They haven't seen much of each other over the past one and a half months, have made loved properly even less, and it's made Joe hungry, starved of Ben's touch and the firm sensation of his body and the hard sensation of his flesh, so there's no surprise they're doing it like this, fully dressed in the middle of the living-room sprawled on the floor, just because the rather innocent kissing session full of laughter transformed into a desire this strong and compulsive.

Since this time it's him who is nominally in control, Joe makes sure he drives Ben to release first, kissing and sucking and grazing that tender spot on his throat while pinning his wrist to the floor and thrusting against him, and when Ben cries softly, going rigid beneath him for a few moments, Joe finally allows himself to let go and rush towards yet another spectacular orgasm, humping Ben's thigh now because he knows he's way too tender down there between his legs right now. They never cease to be like that, those orgasms, absolutely, gloriously breath-taking, and Joe knows he has Ben to thank for that.

When he's done, still gasping for breath, Joe pushes up both the hoodie and the tee Ben's wearing, exposing his lean stomach and toned chest. With an effort, Ben haphazardly pulls it off and discards it somewhere beside them, then does the same to Joe's own t-shirt, and then takes him into his arms, hugging him tight and proper, finally skin on skin, and Joe honestly cannot imagine any other place he'd like to be in, not now, not ever. He feels Ben's heart pounding against his own, almost in unison, and it's an unbearably poignant sensation to experience. He groans softly and kisses the first part of Ben's body that happens to be beneath his lips, which is his collar bone.

"You're never enough, you know?" he mutters, contented.

"Possessive much, huh?" Ben asks so softly his voice takes on those maddening purring notes.

"That's why I'm marrying you," Joe replies, astounded by just how nice it feels to be saying it out loud and meaning it. "Never understood why people would want to tie the knot, to be honest. Knew there had to be some very compelling reason to do it, for most of them anyway, but I could never really grasp it." Joe falls silent and then swallows. "Just accepted that they did and that I saw absolutely no point in it. And then I met you."

Against his ear, Ben chuckles, the sound impossibly gentle. "You're disgustingly romantic," he murmurs, tightening his embrace for a moment.

"You love it, you liar," Joe smiles.

"I do," Ben agrees, willingly enough. "I think I've always been one of those people you never understood, those who consciously want marriage. Just never expected to be _proposed_ to…"

"Funny, huh?" Joe hums.

"Predestined, perhaps," Ben replies softly.

Joe shakes his head, smiles and kisses Ben's throat again. He knows they need to get up and go clean themselves from the mess they've created before they have fallen asleep right here on the floor, but he's feeling so warm and comfortable and satisfied, peaceful for once, he doesn't feel like moving a single limb of his body.

Just five more minutes, he tells himself. Five more minutes in this wonderful, warm, tight embrace of his man.

Predictably enough, five minutes stretch into something around sixty, and when he comes around, his neck feels sore, every limb of his body stiff and the dried mess in his underpants tugs unpleasantly at his skin, but those are just minor inconveniences. The greatest reward is that Ben's smile is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, and it's absolutely brilliant, assuring him that everything really is all right this time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I just had to, all right? XD Hope it makes amends for the pain I inflicted on them in the first part :D
> 
> *The Ship Song by maestro Nick Cave

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't be all sunshine and bunnies, could it? XD I'm sorry but not really.  
> Sort of continuation of the Winter Rhapsody thingie.
> 
> *the title and the quote refer to a song written by Dimitri Tiomkin and Ned Washington, Wild is the Wind; sung by Mr Bowie if anyone needs a soundtrack.


End file.
